New York Renaissance

self-released;
2013

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Music from this release

The 33-year-old Hot 97 DJ Peter Rosenberg is thoroughly wedded to the sounds of his youth, specifically the sounds and styles of rap from 1985-1998 (different periods in this stretch of time have been called "golden age" of hip-hop). Since attaining a coveted spot on Hot 97’s morning show, as well as his own weekly program, Rosenberg has become both a champion and a patron of the kind of rap he loves while demonizing music which doesn’t fit into the parameters he’s set. (This philosophy caught the most attention in last year’s Summer Jam feud, when Nicki Minaj and other Young Money artists refused to perform after Rosenberg dismissed Minaj's song “Starships” as not being “real hip-hop").

The new mixtape New York Renaissance is hosted by Rosenberg and sounds exactly how you would expect it to sound. It’s a collection of the New York rappers who are, for the most part, replicating the vibe of the recent past, and it features many of the same faces that showed up for Rosenberg’s SXSW showcase. If you’ve been keeping an eye on the New York underground, you know the names: a couple A$AP’s here, an Action Bronson there, and various members of the Beast Coast collective (Flatbush Zombies, Joey Badass and Pro Era, Dyme a Duzin) to round out the mix. There are appearances from the neo-conscious crowd (Homeboy Sandman, the producer and DC transplant Oddisee) and relative outliers like Smoke DZA and the Kid Daytona, but for the most part, the artists here are those that were tagged as derivative from the moment their music started appearing on Nah Right.

The bright spots emerge when New York Renaissance shows that traditional beats need not play host to conservative thoughts. Action Bronson has shown that from the beginning, and he does so again with his appearance on the Harry Fraud produced “Compliments 2 the Chef". Bronson was pegged as a revivalist, in part due to his beat selection and that unavoidable vocal resemblance to Ghostface. But he’s as influenced by absurdist Dipset phraseology as he is anything else, with music composed of larger-than–life scene-making, descriptions of a Epicurean lifestyle and the occasional glimpse of intense vulnerability. His best songs function as both caricature and character sketch, as he continues to add new details to his ever-expanding artistic persona.

The Flatbush Zombies, too, have managed to carve out new territory. Their raw punk energy--probably the most mosh-happy rap concerts I’ve attended-- translates on wax into a constant barely-checked aggression that makes boom-bap sound newly dangerous. The gunshots on their offering here, “Inf Beams,” are hardly necessary-- Meech’s opening verse is delivered in his signature off-kilter, enunciated flow, and it’s agreeably ominous.

Perhaps the most polarizing figure on the tape, and the one who most embodies both the pros and cons of the Rosenberg approach is Brooklyn's Joey Bada$$. Joey is a talented young rapper, who flows with an uncanny ease and who has yet to make a song that covers new ground. He, along with World’s Fair, Nick Caution, and many of the lesser-known rappers on the tape, make solid comfort food rap but fail to transcend the revivalist label.

Whether that’s a good or a bad thing depends on your perspective-- apart from the occasional contemporary reference (don’t think many Brooklynites were watching Real Madrid twenty years ago) many of these songs could have come from the nineties. Songs like Pro Era’s “New Brooklyn Remix,” on which producer Dante Ross puts together an Ill Communication soundalike, Homeboy Sandman’s “The Plot Thickens” and Nick Caution’s “Scotty” would have been standouts then, and they can be considered standouts now. They’re far superior to the tired “Like It’s 88” or the Kid Daytona lazing out over the classic beat from “Can I Live", neither of which would’ve have made your discerning fan’s Memorex back in ‘97.

When underground hip-hop develops an inferiority complex, it tends to lash out, mocking the mainstream while trumpeting its own authenticity. That’s part of the reason that Rosenberg has alienated comparatively forward-thinking people (along with the Young Money camp, who, ironically enough, have grown as stagnant in their approach as Rosenberg has in his). If you can disregard that puerile attitude, music like that found on the New York Renaissance is, at worst, unnecessary. At best, it adds something new to the conversation for people still interested in what exactly it is that rap is saying, and not just how it says it.